


For Every After, There's Bound To Be A Before

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Series: Fence Sitter [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Athletes, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Men's Artistic Gymnastics, Outing, Past Child Abuse, Shoplifting, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: Chapter 12 - Fence SitterThirteen-year-old Micah is reunited with his best friend Tyrell Johnson, who returned six weeks ago after living in Phoenix with his dad for several years.It's Christmas Eve. The boys have a bus pass and they found their way to the part of the city with an active LGBT community.





	1. Chapter 1

Getting to Fifth and University on the afternoon of Christmas Eve was a total nightmare. But we did it. And then we stood at the bus stop like total tourists, turning this way and that, unsure of which direction to walk in first.

A guy with slicked back hair in a skinny suit and fat scarf passed us. He had a steaming something in a paper cup in one hand and a fancy bag with tissue paper coming out at all angles in the other. We were gaping at him but he didn’t look at us once. Even when he turned sideways to pass us like he was Flat Stanley or something and trotted across the street where he got swallowed by a group of laughing twenty-somethings.

“Let’s go that way,” Tyrell said and pointed to the block south of us where all the trees were covered in tight spirals of sparkling white lights.

“Cool. Sounds good.” I had fifty bucks on me — more cash than I’d ever carried on me — and I was so freaked out that someone was going to take me for what I had that I folded and hid each bill separately. I had a five in my back pocket, a ten in my front pocket, a twenty plus another five in my wallet, and the other ten zipped up in my jacket pocket. I had it covered.

“Dude!” hissed Tyrell. His eyebrows were raised high and he was looking, wide-eyed, across the street where two guys were making out, one with his back up against the building and twirling his fingers in the hair of the other. Then, smiling, he whispered, “Oh my god.”

“I told you.” That was me, trying to sound all nonchalant like I’d actually seen that happen in person.

“People are just passing by them like it’s no thing.”

“I know, right?”

We ducked under an awning and turned to the street to see what else we could see: way more guys than girls, lots of people holding hands, rainbow flags, leather, bars and restaurants that were bigger than the surrounding stores, a guy with a mohawk riding a bike cursing at people, and a lady sitting on the cement next to a pile of fries and an overturned styrofoam container. Her middle finger was directed at someone unseen. That is until she saw me watching her and then she snipped, “What are you looking at?”

“Come on, Micah.” Tyrell tugged at my sleeve and continued down the sidewalk into a clothing store with mannequins wearing boas and mirror balls on the ceiling.

We walked around the front half of the store, which seemed to cater to people who needed mass-made costumes that had been customized with the help of a glue gun and glitter. I saw a sweater I liked but it wasn’t that much less than what I could get new and it had one of those anti-theft devices on it. Tyrell didn’t look like he found much of interest until we got to the front of the store.

“How do I look?” he said and put on a pair of white plastic squared rimmed sunglasses from the display.

I could tell he put them on because he would look ridiculous in them but he didn’t. “They look…really good actually.”

“No way. Lemme see.”

We stood in front of the mirror with me looking over his shoulder. More like my eyes peeked over his shoulder since he was taller. He slid the glasses halfway down his nose and made one of those cute faces that made my heart squeeze up. I liked having him close enough where I could see the tight curl of his eyelashes and how, when he blinked, it took more time for his eyelids to come back up than to go down. “You should get ‘em.”

“Nah. I need to make sure I get my mom something.”

I asked him before if he knew what he was looking for and got the same answer he always gave, “I’ll know when I see it.” He returned the glasses from where he got them and didn’t notice when I slipped them into my pocket.

This thing for his mom, it wasn’t in this store or the next. It might have been in the store with candles but when we looked at the price tag of _the one_ , he laid the candle gingerly on the stand he got it from and slinked out of the store.

The store next to that one was a gold mine. I found something for Seth: bandages that looked like bacon. “Micah, aren’t you supposed to be all Jewish now?”

“That’s what makes this the perfect gift. We’re _supposed_ to be but we’re so not into it. Seriously, I don’t even know why we’re going.”

“What do you mean?”

“ You know how we’ve been taking classes and services and everything? Yesterday, we go for breakfast after. Check this out, okay? We all had bacon except for Grandma Rebecca.”

“That’s crazy. Did she get mad?”

“Dude. She had ham,” I laughed. “I don’t get it. Like they are so random with this shit.”

“Hey, what about this?” Tyrell was holding up a light blue t-shirt with two olives holding hands, floating hearts and a speech bubble that read _Olive You._

I snorted and scratched my head. “That’s such a Tyrell gift. It’s awesome.”

“Right? So, iff you hate going to services so much, why don’t you stop going?”

“He won’t let me compete if I quit going.”

Tyrell made a face.

“I know, dude. Nothing I can do. Anyhow…the shirt. Are you going to get it?”

“Maybe. Let’s walk around a bit more. If there isn’t anything better, I’ll come back.”

We passed another restaurant and something that might have been a bar but the door and windows were blacked out. I just assumed they’d gone out of business but then a guy with a leather jacket and tight pants swung the door open to loud electronic music. The door closed before I could see inside. And all of a sudden, I really wanted to see inside.

“Don’t be nosy.”

“You know you want to know what that was as much as I do.”

“Maybe it’s something like that,” said Tyrell. He was pointing at a DVD cover but I couldn’t tell which one. There were rows and rows to choose from.

“Tyrell. Oh, my god. The _Plowboys_.”

“Oh no. Check this one out. The Gangbangers. Are they kidding? Do they look like any gangbangers you know?”

"No way. but check this out," I laughed, “Rear- _Ended._ ”

So he laughted too, “The Young and Hung — parts one _and_ two.”

“ _Man_. _Meat_.” The covers were mostly oiled-up guys shown from the waist up or in brightly colored underwear that showed off their huge package.

“Hey,” Tyrell said. He held up one hand in an O-K sign and poked his finger through the hole. “Do you think they really put their…you know…there?”

I played like I was going to go inside, “Dunno man. I’ll ask.”

“Shut up you are not,” he caught me by the shoulder. “Oh, my god. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Ty. Look at those.” I was stood at the next window over. The one that was full of the underwear worn by those guys on the DVD covers. Then there -- right in front of me -- was a pair that was made for Tyrell. They were dark yellow shorts with a gray waistband over an inch thick. There was black piping over the crotch and black letters on the band itself. It matched his favorite yellow and gray shirt exactly.

_Exactly._

I knew it for sure because he was wearing the shirt now. He was next to me and the shorts were in the window.

“You need those.”

“No, I do not,” Tyrell said with careful emphasis on every syllable.

“Oh my god, you totally do. Just picture it. You. Okay? You in that shirt. It would be unbuttoned just like it is now but you don’t have anything else on except those.” I pointed at the holy grail of all underwear. “ _And_ white sunglasses,” I said it and then, feeling them burn a hole in my pocket, I snapped my mouth shut.

Still, though.

I could totally picture it. He was super lean with long ass legs and shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist and hips.

“No.”

“Come on, Ty. You’d look _sooo_ good.”

“Let’s go to the bookstore.”

“I’m gonna get ‘em.”

“I’m not gonna _wear_ ‘em.”

“For me? Seriously -- you wouldn’t wear them for me?” I crossed my arms and got up in his face a little.

“Pfft. You serious right now?”

“I’m so serious.”

He stared me down. I stared him back. He raised one eyebrow at me and turned his head a little bit to the side. I raised one of my eyebrows and nodded. “Ugh,” he grunted and covered his hands on his face.

“Ha. Sweet. Meet you in the bookstore,” I told him and

The blonde guy behind the counter wore a black mesh tank-top and his friend, who leaned on the counter with his chin in his hand, wore metal hoop earrings and a tight long sleeved shirt with all the colors of a bruise. I was the only customer.

The blonde one was talking, “He’s just going to go back to her again. He always does.”

“But…it’s so good when we’re together. Why can’t he see that?”

“Girl, no. I don’t care how good you _think_ things are. He’s a straight boy and straight boys are good for exactly one thing. And even then, it don’t last that long.”

“He says he’s bisexual.”

“Whatever. It is 1995 and you have found yourself a man who can’t figure out if he wants dick or not…”

“Oh, I know he wants it.”

Blondie gave Earrings a withering stare. “Not my point and you know it. He’s a fucking fence sitter and your ass deserves better than that.”

“I think he’s going to leave her,” Earrings concluded. Then he saw me lurking at the back of the store. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for the yellow shorts in the window.”

“What size?” Earrings asked and walked past me to a set of drawers I hadn’t noticed. When I didn’t answer he asked, “Are these for you or what?”

I shook my head.

Earrings smirked at me, “You’re buying underwear for a boy?”

“Yeah…uh…my friend.”

“Okay. What size is your…. _friend_? Is he bigger than you or what?”

“Same, I guess.”

He handed me a box with an S in the upper corner. “They run small but I think these would fit. How old are you?”

“Why?” I snarked. “Can you like not sell me underwear if I’m too young?”

He threw his head back and belly laughed, “Ooh-hoo, listen to you. _Okay_. None of my business.”

I looked at the price tag. Wow. “Is this just one pair?”

“Yes, it is,” sing-songed Earrings, amused at my question or perhaps with me, in general, “ _That_ is the price for one pair. Do you still want them?”

“Yes.”

“Mm 'kay. Come with me,” he said and walked back to the register to ring me up. I handed him the ten from my jacket pocket and the five from my jeans.

There was a huge roll of black wrapping paper behind him. “Do you…um…”

Blondie followed my eyes and asked, “You want me to wrap that for you?”

“Can you?”

Earrings told Blondie, “You know we’re supposed to charge for that, right?”

To which Blondie answered, “Whatever. He’s just a baby.”

“Consider yourself lucky, kid,” Earrings told me. “He doesn’t give anything away to anyone. So, tell me about your man.”

“My man?” I smiled.

“Yeah. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s…” The bell rang as someone came through the front door. I whispered, “That’s him.”

Blondie and Earrings made a big deal of looking him up and down. Earrings made a duck face and gave me a not of approval. Blondie handed the bag and said under his breath, “Hot.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes like _whatever_ but I couldn’t keep from grinning, anyway. “Oh, do you know anywhere we can get candles? I mean, nice ones but not like the one's next door?”

“Sure thing,” said Earrings, “The new hardware store has everything.” Then he gave us directions, “Turn right, then right again, go four or five blocks, and it’s on the right-hand side. You can’t miss it. It’s got plant stands on the sidewalk in front.”

“Okay. Thanks again.”

“Merry Christmas, boys,” said Blondie. The two of them stood against the counter and watched us leave. The last thing I heard was one saying to the other, “Can you imagine someone buying you undies at that age?”

“Diapers, maybe.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

When the door closed, Tyrell looked at me and asked, “What was that about?”

“Apparently the one that’s into diapers is also a bitch,” I deadpanned and shrugged my shoulders. “What can I say? I don’t judge.”

“Micah, promise something.”

“What?”

“You’ll never call me a bitch.”

“Huh. You don’t like it?”

“Naw. I don’t like it.”

“Can I call you my super sexy underwear model?”

“No.”

“Can I call you…”

“No.”

“How do you know what I was going to say? Maybe you’d like it?”

“I like it when you call me Ty.”

“Yeah?” His admission made me ridiculously happy.

“Yeah.”

We walked down to the corner and took a right. My hand brushed against his a few times in hopes that he’d let it stick. But instead, he put his hand in his pockets and wrinkled his nose. I tried changing the topic, “This place is crazy right. Look. There’s a place that sells cupcakes.”

“It’s not that hard to find cupcakes,” he quipped.

“No. They sell cupcakes. Like cupcakes and nothing else.”

“What?”

“Serious. Look.”

The front of the shop was basically made up of four long shelves heaping with frosting in various shades of pink, white, brown and topped again with anything from different sauces to candy.

“Damn. Looks good.”

“Ty?” I asked. We kept walking. “Do you miss Phoenix ever?”

“Not really, no.”

“What was it like?”

“The summertime, okay? It was hot. A hundred degrees was nothing. It would be a hundred and five, six, seven. Once it got to a hundred and fifteen.”

“That sucks.”

“But there would be these crazy dust storms.”

“What’s that like?”

“What do you think it’s like?”

“Dusty?”

He laughed, “Well, yeah but there’s a wall of dust. Sometimes a mile in the air.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not. I swear. We were driving south from Flagstaff once and saw this wall of dust just…swallowed up all the high rises.”

“It was as tall as high rises. No, it wasn’t,” I scoffed.

“No, no. The dust was this high, right?” said Tyrell and he put his hand level with his shoulder. “The buildings were this high.” His other hand was below his knee.

“No way.”

“It was just like that. No lie.”

“Tell me something else about Phoenix.”

“Okay.” The pedestrian sign chirped and changed from red to white. It was only a few streets from where we started but it seemed we’d already left the crowd behind. “So, there was this story, right? About a group of kids?”

“Right.”

“Older than us. High school age.”

“We’re practically high school age.”

“You know what I mean. Sixteen or seventeen or something.”

“Okay.”

“Anyhow, they started kind of stalking this guy. They would steal stuff from him. Call him names on the street. Faggot and stuff like that. One night, it all kicked off and they beat the guy with a tire iron.”

“Shit.”

“That’s not all, Micah. They came back that night and torched his house. He died.”

“Oh my god.”

“Like at first, it was reported as some random event that happened in the projects. But then people found out more about what happened. And here’s the thing. People didn’t act like it was some big deal. I mean, some people did. But, in general, there were a lot of people that…I don’t know…They didn’t say he deserved it anything…but they didn’t say that he didn’t either.”

“I think so. But…,” I paused to look at the couple across the street that sat on a cinder block wall holding hands. And how the bar in front of us was filled with guys sitting together, some of them on each other’s laps, some of them kissing casually, some of them kissing not so casually. “Look around us. We would totally blend in here. No one knows us. It’s safer here than at home when one of our parents might come home early and catch us.”

“Maybe.”

Tyrell was all sorts of zoned out and unhappy when we got to the place with plants and Christmas trees in front of it. I nudged his arm and said, “Hardware store.”

“Huh?”

“We’re here.”

This was not like any hardware store I’d been to. I was used to the kind of store that smelled like metal shavings and sawdust with open bins of screws and nails and washers and elbows and stays and fasteners of all shapes and sizes that we would gather up into small paper bags.

This place, though. There were things like salt and pepper shakers shaped like two halves of a heart, Betty Boop clocks, fancy glasses, and coffee mugs with all sorts of statements about the necessity of coffee. A clean shaven guy with brown hair and a red apron approached us and asked us if we needed a basket. “No,” said Tyrell at the same time I said, “Yes.”

I took it and thanked the guy.

We found the candles. And incense. And air freshener. And coasters. “Do you want to go back and get the shirt?” I asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows and his lips turned down in a slight frown. “No,” he said and grabbed my hand. I followed him down a set of stairs to the part of the store with power tools and stuff for gardening. Then we wove through a row of seasonal specialties, which in this case, was all about tinsel, lights, and ornaments for Christmas trees, and to a quiet empty corner next to bags of bird seed.

He took my hands and laid them straight out so that our palms and fingers pressed together. His hand twisted slightly to make our fingers alternate so that my fingers were in the seams of his and his fingers were in the seams of mine. Then his fingers separated — only slightly — only just — so that my fingers slipped into his. Finally, he curled his fingers so that we were standing, facing each other holding each other's hands.

Something about me and Tyrell. In all the hours of my life, I’ve spent way more time looking into Tyrell’s face than I had my own. Without looking at him, I knew how his forehead and his neck were darker than his cheeks. I knew by heart how his upper lip was all the same color brown but his lower lip started out the same color pink as his tongue and got darker so that the rim of his bottom lip was the same color as his top one. I knew they were both firmer and bigger than mine but he had a way of being really tender with them sometimes. And if for some reason, I ever had to find him when I blindfolded, I knew there was a small bump behind his left ear that was too small to see but not too small to feel.

So I knew that he was going to do something that was hard for him to do.

He shifted his weight from his right to his left.

He leaned closer into me.

He blinked eyes a few times.

He licked his lips.

He swallowed.

And then he kissed me.

Right there in the pet section of the hardware store on University Avenue next to fifty-pound bags of bird seed that, from that point, became one of my favorite smells.

At first, his lips floated over mine; they hesitated as if he might not go through with it. But then he wrapped our hands behind his back so we were pressed together and the kiss became something as real as anything we had shared in private.

When he pulled back, he gave me this cute, bashful look with a wrinkled nose and everything.

Then he told me, “I just needed to do that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too.”

“Ty?”

“What?”

“I’m glad you’re back. It wasn’t the same without you.”

“No. Me, neither.”

“Merry Christmas, Ty.”

He kissed me again and said, “Merry Christmas, Micah.”


	2. Chapter 2

The week between Christmas and New Years was prime training time for competitive gymnasts, which was just as well since the casual ones tended to disappear until January.

Coach Bryan and I have been here every dayas soon as they opened until just before five. He trained with people all day and I split my day between training and doing some unofficial work-in-trade for Coach Nick in exchange for gym fees. This week, it was about cleaning the place silly in order to prepare for a photo shoot of the facility. While he was at it, he was also going to take photos of all the athletes representing the center. Including me.

The shoot started this morning.

There were new uniforms and everything — deep red with black accents and black pants for us. The leotards and tanks had the center’s logo silkscreened centrally on the chest; team jackets had a small logo on the front and a large one on the back. He got the idea from the US team uniforms. Garrett was already wearing his. It was the real deal.

As far as I knew, mine (like the ones for Kelly and Joe) was going to be borrowed as part of his scholarship program. I couldn’t figure out if there was really a program or whether he’d decided that he wanted the three of us on the team so badly, he invented ways to make it possible. Uniforms aside, the training time, summer camps and even stuff like grips and tape got crazy expensive in no time at all. He would ask us to do odd jobs but, mostly, he just wanted us to win and be around for loads of extra pictures and give permission for our stories to be on his website.

I was doing a prep sequence for the Iron Cross when Coach Nick came over to consult Coach Bryan about the schedule, “Since we’re short on time, why don’t you get Garrett warmed up while I take Micah’s portraits? After that, we’ll have the boys run through their programs on the Rings and the Horizontal Bar…and…what do you think…Pommel Horse?”

“We should include Micah’s floor routine. If we rotate them with Joe, they should be able to get through all four…maybe the vault as well…and maybe Garrett’s parallel bars.”

“Sure. You brought your video camera as well? We can do both at the same time.”

I looked to Coach Bryan for a clue to dismount and got it. When I landed, Coach Nick brought me back to his office and handed me my uniform. “We’re on a tight schedule so if you wouldn’t mind, change here and then meet me in the far corner?”

“But the changing rooms…”

“I know but this is faster and I promise you won’t be disturbed. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I guess not.”

I remained there, behind the closed door, alone in the office, with the empty chairs, blank monitors, and desktop computers (which was a weird name since everyone knew that these always sat on the floor). All of a sudden there was a noise that practically gave me a heart attack. But it was just one of the printers that squeaked and then spat out some pages. Though I knew I was alone, I didn’t feel alone. Another look around the room revealed no red or green or blinking lights.

 _Stupid_ , I huffed, berating myself for getting startled over some random office noise, and peeled off my workout gear and slipped my heel into one leg of the singlet. When I bent to do the same for the other leg, I accidentally bumped the desk and saw that a screen of a laptop I hadn’t noticed before lit up.

When it came on, my first thought was to expect something super gross like a live camera feed or a hidden video chat with some geezer on the other side. But no. It was just some website with instructions for getting the portrait lighting right. I snapped the lid shut and finished getting dressed, wasting no time to gather my workout gear, get out and head to the far corner of the gym where white sheets covered hung in front of special lights. Coach Nick stood next to the shiny umbrella things that looked like the ones from that website.

Garrett headed over to Coach Bryan while I stayed with Coach Nick who instructed me to turn this way and that. To sit down. To keep a straight face. To smile.

“I don’t get to talk to you much, Micah. Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“I guess. My dad’s Jewish so…”

“Ah. Hannukah, then.”

“Yeah, it ended last night.”

“Did you get anything nice?” He decided something with my hair wasn’t quite right and stepped over to fix it before taking more pictures.

“Yeah. I got a few things. Clothes mostly. How about you?”

“I got a new lens for my camera and some other nice things. Did you get anything special from your girlfriend?”

“No — I … uh … don’t have a girlfriend”

Coach Nick raised an eyebrow at me in this creepy, old-man-pretending-to-be-my-age sort of way. “Good looking kid like you? Why not?”

What the hell business was it is of his? “Busy, I guess.”

“You must not notice how the girls watch you, huh?”

“Guess not,” I said and hoped we were close to being done. 

“Let’s get a few more with your medals.” He draped three of my golds over my head (clearly, I couldn’t do it myself) and took too long to arrange the disks so they sat side by side over my chest as if I were Vitaly Scherbo or something. There was more fussing to pick a piece of hair off, to brush off dust with his fingers, to rub my shoulders, “Relax, Micah. You’re supposed to look like you’re having a good time.”

Coach Bryan was busy with Garrett. I willed him to look over here but he just kept running through a warm-up routine. “You know,” coaxed Coach Nick, “I think Julia has a bit of a thing for you.”

“Is that right?” I asked. My attempt at being polite enough to sound interested wasn’t that successful.

“What would you say about taking her out?”

Um. _What?_ I took a moment to figure how to nicely shut this down. “I can’t. Really. I don’t have time, I don’t have money.”

Coach Nick stepped in a bit closer and told me, “Look bud. I do a lot of favors for you, okay? The gym time. This uniform. Between us, I think it would help her confidence if you were to show some interest in her. Know what I mean?”

“What are you asking me to do exactly?”

“Oh, you know. Flirt a little. Spend some time with her. I’d consider it a personal favor,” he said. And he winked. He fucking winked. What the hell was that? “That’s what friends do for each other, right? Favors. Okay, now. Smile.” With that, he went back to snapping photos.

Garrett, Joe, and I rotated through our routines and finished up within the hour. This time when I went to change, I made a beeline for the locker room. And when I got out of the shower, my uniform sat folded on the bench with my name written in permanent marker on all the tags.

_Creeper._

“Hey, Coach?” I asked Coach Bryan when we were driving home.

“What’s up?”

“How come you never ask if I had a girlfriend or anything?”

“Uh…I don’t know. I guess if you had one, you’d either introduce me or I’d see her at practice. Why?”

“Coach Nick asked me.”

“I see.”

“He wants me to take out Julia.”

“Do you like Julia?”

“I haven’t really given it any thought. But…okay…why would he say it was a favor?”

A frown of doubt appeared on his face. He glanced at me from the side and then went back to looking at the road. “A favor?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold on.” Next thing I knew, we were pulling off the ramp two stops before the one we would take to get back to my house and into a spot inside the Park-n-Ride just off the freeway.

Coach twisted in his seat to face me and told me, “You don’t owe him anything.” He was just like that expression, _serious as a heart attack._

“What about the uniform? Or like…the camps or the free stuff he throws my way?”

“Look. What he asked you was unprofessional at best. The only reason I would get involved in your dating life is if something you were doing adversely affected your career. You are…what…thirteen?”

“I’m practically fourteen.”

“If you are interested in Julia and if you want to hang out with her and get to know her, I’m sure she’s a very nice girl. But you are not obligated to do so. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. And you definitely do _not_ need to be interested in someone as a favor.”

“Okay.” We kept sitting there. Now it was all sorts of awkward in the car. “Are you mad?”

“Honestly? I’m wondering how concerned I should be,” mused Coach and he focused into the distance. “What else has he asked you to do?”

I scratched my head. “Nothing, really.”

“Nothing, _really_ …what’s that…is it nothing- _nothing_ or is it nothing that feels like _something_? I’m not asking casually, Micah. I need to know.”

“The other stuff is just around the gym. Cleaning and stuff,” I explained, my voice fading as I said it. It was such a stupid little thing that I’m sure meant nothing and now it felt like a _thing_.

Coach Bryan took a deep breath and looked back at me with laser focus. “Micah.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’s nothing. I’d like to think that what he was asking was genuinely nothing.”

I prompted, “But?”

His gaze was the one people had when they had _something_ _important_ to say, “I don’t want you alone with him, okay? Ever. And if he ever — and I mean _ever_ — tries to get you alone, I want to know about it.”

“Okay.”

I couldn’t tell if he was mad or worried or what. “Micah?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t take this lightly. It’s your name that is getting out there. People can see what you can do — even though you’ve had a slow year. You aren’t the one who needs Nick. He’s getting plenty from you just by having you on the team. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You promise me that you’ll come to me if something happens. Or if nothing happens. I want you to come to me if you have so much of an inkling that something is wrong. Know what I mean?”

“No. What do you mean?”

“Have you ever had the feeling that everything looks in order and there isn’t anything you can explain or describe as being wrong but there’s just _something_ …If you feel something like that, I want you to come find me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Not a promise you’ll blow off. I want a real promise.”

“I promise won’t be alone with him and the second he does something creepy — or if I feel something creepy -- I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” said Coach with a quick nod. He twisted the key in the ignition and announced, “Discussion over. Let’s get us home, eh?”

We got back on the freeway and as soon as I got home and showered up, I biked to Tyrell’s house where his mom had just paid the pizza and was leaving for work when I greeted her, “Hey, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Hi, baby,” she said and waved her keys at me before unlocking her car door. “You boys have fun watching…whatever it is you’re watching.”

I waved back and said, “Sure thing. Thanks for the pizza.”

The door closed behind her.

“Finally. I thought she’d never leave,” Tyrell uttered while he stuffed a roll of paper towels under his arm, pinched two cups between his fingers and indicated that I should grab the box of pizza and follow him into the living room.

It didn’t escape me that he was wearing the same shirt he was on Christmas Eve. And if I wasn’t mistaken, it looked like it had just been ironed and everything. Which made me think he might give me _my_ Christmas present. “Ty — you’re wearing them aren’t you?”

His nose wrinkled and a cute little smile crept up on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. My. God. You _are_. Lemme see.”

“Naw, I’m not wearing nothing. You’re high.”

“Is that right?” I threatened him with a twirl of my pointer finger and got closer and closer until I could wiggle it under his shirt to lift the hem and take a look. “Huh. You aren’t wearing your undershirt.”

He giggled and jerked away. “Control yourself, fool.”

“I can’t, I can’t. I need to see this,” I declared and shifted the stuff from his hands to the coffee table. “Come on. Where are those white sunglasses I gave you? You need those to complete _the look_.”

Tyrell got all bashful. “What look is that?”

“You. Open shirt, underwear, showing off for me,” I taunted and ran to the front door to lock the deadbolt and slide the chain into place. When I came back, his shirt was unbuttoned. “Oh yeah. Go, go. Let’s see it. Wait, though…we need _music_ for your catwalk.”

Smif-N-Wessun was already sitting in the CD player. I pressed arrow, arrow, arrow, and four more times until Bucktown was cued up and then I hit play. The intro was a slow jazzy horn. Then came a few blingy sound effects before Tek and Steele started up— _I walk around Town with my pound strapped down to my side…_

Tyrell shimmied out of his jeans and proceeded to do this — really — swear to god — catwalk dance. When he got to the end, which was really the far end of the room, he held his shirt open behind the wrist of his hand posed on his jutted out his hip before he turned around and walked the other way.

“Damn, Ty!” I told him and stuck my tongue.

He stopped three feet in front of me and did a full-on Beyonce twerk, a few hip rolls, and then erupted into a fit of giggles.

I begged him, “No, no, no — don’t stop. It’s hot.”

“It’s not. I feel so lame, dude.”

“Hell, no. It is so not lame,” I said and looked him up and down. “And you know what? I can tell you think it’s hot, too.”

“How’s that?”

I rubbed a finger along his crotch and said, “Cause you’re getting hard.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“What? I am, too.” As I said it, he went to back away but I grabbed his hands to pull him close again. It wasn’t really my intention but now his crotch was right in front of my nose, which I rubbed against him.

“Ho shit, Micah! Seriously?!” squeaked Tyrell.

I looked up at him and asked, “Ever think about it?”

“What?”

“What it tastes like?”

His breath caught, “No way, dude. That’s sick.”

“Yeah? So why’d your dick just jump?”

“I…uh…okay, maybe…” he hedged. Tyrell was thinking about it. Not thinking really. He’d already made up his mind that he was interested. He just hadn’t made up his mind as to whether he was okay with being interested in doing something like that.

All of a sudden, he flew back several feet, expelling something that sounded an awful lot like “oh, fuck!” and scrambled to get back into his clothes.

“What?”

Then I heard it.

_Oh, fuck._

Keys in the lock. A jiggle of the doorknob. A _thump_ as the door pulled and caught on the chain. His mom was home. And she sounded annoyed, “Boys, why is the chain on here?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Johnson,” I yelled, “That was me. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, get your butt over here and open the door.”

“Yeah, coming!” I stalled.

There wasn’t much I could do much to get to help Tyrell put himself back together but once his pants were hiked up, I pushed him down on the sofa and threw a blanket over him. “Dude, wrap up like you’re cold,” I whispered and waited another second or two to make sure Tyrell was dressed, even if he was still breathing fast.

I booked it to the door and opened it.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Uh huh.” Mrs. Johnson came in sniffing the air. “You boys smoking something?”

“Uh, no.”

“Were you doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”

“No ma’am,” I promised. I swear the woman could give a guy a look that would stop him in the middle of last week. “Honestly, I just locked the door automatically. I didn’t even think about it.”

Tyrell got himself sprawled on the couch with his arms hanging over the back, “Hey ma. What are you doing back?”

“My damn boss changed the schedule and didn’t bother telling me about it. So, that means I get to have pizza and hang out with you.”

“Cool,” I said, “That’s cool. We haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Micah.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I love you, baby, but you couldn’t lie to save your life,” she looked at me with this smile that was half-smirk, full-pity and walked over to Tyrell and gave him a kiss on the forehead, “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry to crash your party.”

“It’s cool, ma.”

She turned off the music and turned on the TV. We skipped across the channels and rejected _Home Alone_ , a _Grinch Stole Christmas_ special, and reruns of _The Fresh Prince_. Then we hit gold. _Blazing Saddles._ We landed on the channel right when the movie title appeared from wide shot over the desert and into the first crack of a horse whip.

Mrs. Johnson said, “Would you look at that? Perfect timing.”

Tyrell caught my look and rolled his eyes. I could tell he agreed. Nope, her timing was not perfect. In fact, it was anything but.


	3. Chapter 3

The few people that were in the community center lobby stared as I walked in through the double doors. I hadn’t planned on hanging around before I changed but after a mom shoved her kid behind her and scrambled out of the way, I made a beeline for the bathroom. Then I caught a glance of my face in the mirror. I didn’t do as good a job as I thought when I stopped at home to clean my face before I rode my bike here.

It wasn’t a minute before Coach came in and shoo’d everyone else away.

“Let me look at you. What happened?” I could practically hear the next words out of his mouth, _Again, Micah? Really?_ But those never came.

I tried to speak, tried to tell him, but all he got was a weak ass wobble of my lower lip that probably told him I was nanoseconds away from bawling my eyes out. He grabbed a stack of paper towels — the brown kind that were practically cardboard and merely dripped water off the sides when they were put under running water. Still, he shook the excess off and balled up the rest to clean up my face of the blood that dripped from my nose to my chin. Finally, I got a word out, “Tyrell…he…”

“This wasn’t your mom?”

I shook my head. “No, it happened at school.”

“But, I thought he was your friend?”

“He…he…” I tried to explain and ended up in a continuous set of hiccups. Then I really did start bawling.

“Okay,” said Coach Bryan and shielded me from those who came into the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shuffled me into the staff office and got a white first aid kit out of one of the desks. The teachers and coaches made their way over to help, which didn’t help at all. A moment later, my boss Kenny Walker told us to use his office. When we got in there, Kenny hovered until Coach waved him off, “I think we might need some privacy if that’s okay.”

Kenny nodded, swiveling shut the blinds and said, “Take your time,” on his way out the door.

I sat on the desk with my feet on the plastic chair meant for visitors and pulled off the crinkly brown paper that probably wasn’t absorbing much anyway. Coach sat in Kenny’s big, puffy chair and waited for me answer his question from before, _what happened_?

“It’s so messed up,” I started.

“Yeah?”

“But like…what if…”

Coach rubbed a hand over his mouth and didn’t say a word.

I sighed and started telling him the story for real.

I told him about Tyrell. About how we decided to start messing around after he moved back from Phoenix. About how we made arrangements to leave class in order to meet somewhere at school to mess around. About how we got caught by Stef Tyler and how she spread the story about what she saw.

I told him about how Kevin Muldine and Rory Evans were at the door of my last class and practically carried me off campus to a place they’d already brought Tyrell. About how they wanted us to face off and fight each other. About how I made one choice and Tyrell made another. About how it wasn’t good enough for Tyrell to hit me, Kevin Muldine had to go and punch me some more.

I told him about how I freaked out on the way home and couldn’t breathe and that freaked me out even more. About having zero clues how I was going to explain this to my parents — especially since they had just started living together again and how I was scared them finding out about everything would end all that. About how I had to go back to school tomorrow, where everyone knew what happened and why.

“Wow, Micah. That’s…a lot to take in. Give me a second,” he admitted and opened the first aid kit. It was the deluxe kind with a ton of gauze and those weird angled scissors. That’s not what he grabbed, though. He went for the cotton balls and wet them with antiseptic to dab my face.

“So you were outed?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Coach leaned forward to put his elbows on the desk and lowered his voice, “It’s when someone tells someone else — or in this case — someone tells a whole lot of people about something private when they didn’t have permission to do it.”

“Maybe.”

“And sometimes it’s something specific to being gay.”

I swallowed hard. “Gay?”

“Well, if you are a guy who likes another guy … or a girl who likes another girl … or if you don’t identify as the gender that was assigned to you…or … there are lots of reasons. But these are all personal, private things that should be yours alone to share.”

“Okay, yeah. That.”

“So. _That_ is very, very wrong for someone to do that and I’m sorry it happened.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“Did anyone see you? Do you happen to know if anyone at the school knows?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay. What about these boys? Have they ever done something like this before?”

“Not specifically. Just rumors.”

“And your friend? Do you think they might have hurt him after you left?”

Oh.

“How about if I called his house to make sure he’s ok.” He offered.

I nodded and gave him their phone number.

Coach stretched out the cord of the office phone to made the call from the other side of the room. He spoke to them with his back toward me. I was so tired that I could hardly sit up straight; I just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. Finally, I heard Coach say, “I appreciate you talking to me. I’m glad Tyrell is okay.”

_Click._

I tried not to listen but I heard enough to know that whatever he was going to tell me next wasn’t good news.

“Tyrell is home. He’s not hurt.”

I was shaking. When did I start shaking?

“Listen, Micah,” said Coach; his voice was calm, “I want to tell you what Mrs. Johnson told me. It’s going to be hard to hear.”

“Okay.”

He moved a stack of papers and sat on the desk next to me. “Tyrell is saying that you dared him to do it. That he felt both uncomfortable and pressured and that you had persisted until he gave in.”

“But I didn’t. I swear.”

“She is planning to meet with the principal tomorrow. The first thing she said was that she would change his schedule so that you won’t share classes or a lunch schedule.” He took a breath and a slow exhale, “She also said that she was going to request disciplinary action from the school since it happened there. She didn’t know about the other boys.”

“What? But what does that mean? What did I do?”

“She might be talking about harassment.

“That’s not how it was, Coach. It wasn’t. I swear it wasn’t. And…like…she’s known me forever. Why would she go to the principal?”

I went from shaky to buzzy and I had trouble breathing again.

 _Count_. I’m supposed to count.

“Micah, look at me.”

_…three, four, five…._

My chest was going to explode.

“No, actually, don’t look at me. Bend and put your head between your knees.”

_One, two, three, four…_

“For what it’s worth, I believe you. Alright? I believe everything you’ve told me today.”

_…two, three, four…_

I got dizzy and keened forward, only to be steadied by Coach.“This has been a pretty big shock for you today, am I right?”

“Yeah,” my voice cracked as I said it.

“Well,” he said, “you’re not practicing today. I don’t think you should ride your bike home either.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“There’s no way you should be in traffic. Micah, you’re shaking.”

I was — like my whole body was vibrating. I couldn’t control it or stop it or anything.

Coach threw my bike in the back of his car and secured it with a bungee cord. Then as soon as I got home, he got me inside and back to my room.

I didn’t even take off my shoes. I just got in bed and hid under the covers.

Next thing I knew it was dark. My chest boomed in a panic when a silhouette appeared in the doorway and started making its way in.“Micah?” It was my mom. She dropped into a squat by my bed and felt my forehead.

I didn’t get it.

She wasn’t mad.

Maybe Coach didn’t tell her?

Maybe she hadn’t heard?

“Your Coach and I just had a long talk. Do you want to talk about it?”

Never mind. She heard. I croaked, “Not really.”

“Okay, you don’t have to,” mom told me, her voice soft and sympathetic, the way it got sometimes after she spoke with our family counselor. “No matter what, Micah, I want you to know that I love you. I’m proud of you for not fighting.”

Fighting? Oh yeah. That’s what this was about. Sort of. Or, you know, so much more than that.

“I’m going to call Tyrol’s mom to see if she and I can talk through this without involving the school,” she said, her soft voice lulled me into sinking deeper into bed as she played with my blankets, arranging them this way and that.

“Okay.”

“Is is true that you… _liked_ Tyrell in that way?”

Moment of truth.

 _Just say it_ , I told myself.

So, I did.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s true.”

“Oh Micah,” she sounded disappointed. “That isn’t going to be easy to live down. You know that?”

“I know.”

“So since you didn’t fight…”

“Yeah. Maybe I should have just done it.”

I heard her exhale and hesitate, and I heard those small noises that came from her opening and closing her mouth without saying anything. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what I would have done in your position.”

“You probably wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“Well, that is the trick,” she admitted. She ran her fingers through my hair a few times and then I turned away from her to face the window. Before she left, she asked, “Are you going to come out for dinner or would you like to stay here?”

“Stay here.”

“Okay,” she leaned over, kissed my head and went to leave.

“Mom,” I asked.

“What?” she replied.

“When you talk to Mrs. Johnson, will you say that…I…” my voice caught. The tears were hot when they crossed over my nose but got cold after they landed on my pillow. “Can you just tell him that I know he doesn’t have a choice…you know…to do what he’s doing and that…I…um…” I kept trying not to cry but I couldn’t. “And say that I won’t come near him, okay? I’ll stay away.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want me to say?”

“If that’s what he wants, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, Micah.”

Sleep didn’t return. Neither did mom. But I heard her talk to Mrs. Johnson for a while. After that, she made another call but I didn’t know to who. It sounded official.

Then dad came home.

“Hi Suzie,” said dad. He sounded tired and relieved to be home. They kissed, which was good. It meant they were back to kissing. Maybe soon, they’d be holding hands and dancing again. “Where are the boys?”

“Seth is staying at a friend's and Micah is taking a nap.”

“On a school night?”

“Yes. But…he’s had a long day.”

“Why?” He clued into the fact that something happened today. “Is everything alright?”

“Micah was in a fight today.”

Silence.

Then.

“A fight? What kind of fight?”

“With Tyrell and a few other boys”

“Is he okay?”

“He might have a shiner tomorrow.”

“So, what happened?”

“Apparently, Micah and Tyrell were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think they might have been _experimenting_ with each other and got caught.”

“Experimenting. Yes.”

“With each other?”

“Just…yes. Tyrell was threatened. Micah was beat-up.”

“Why was Micah beat up?”

“Because he wouldn’t fight.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s terrifying is what it is," She said, emphatic all of a sudden. "And one of the reasons that we really need to think about moving. It’s too rough around here.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I…well, I can’t imagine. I don’t know all the details.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“Suz. We aren’t doing him any favors by letting him hang out with that coach.”

Mom sighed, “David, I think he’s really good with him. I’ve never seen him be anything other than totally appropriate.”

“But he’s one of _those_. You know it. I know it. What if he’s…influencing Micah? And…jeez, that kid has never been exactly normal, you know?”

Another pause.

“What do you mean he’s not normal?”

“With the stealing and the make-up and now this? We can only keep this contained at home for so long. What if he…we shouldn’t be putting him in situations where he’s encouraged to keep doing these things that aren’t normal for boys.”

I hid under my mountain of blankets with only my right ear exposed. The air under the covers was hot, and soon, stale. There was nothing they were saying that I wanted to hear. Still, I had to know. There was a chance that mom might be okay with me being…whatever I was.

Dad, though?

His thoughts so far didn’t bode well.

Until now, he’d never said anything that made me think that I wasn’t enough of a boy. He never berated me for crying. He never came down on me for choosing gymnastics over football. He never wanted me to fight. I didn’t need to turn the other cheek or anything. It’s just that he never considered fighting to be the measure of a man. Instead, a man was supposed to be successful in order to provide for his family and leave the world in a better state than he arrived in it.

On the other hand, we were really different. He was stoic, I was moody. He was simple, I was complex. He never lashed out but I did — with lies, hiding, silence, and shoplifting. He didn’t understand me and I didn’t understand him back. But he always tried to do what he thought was right, regardless.

Seth was like him — so much easier. That’s what everyone who knew us said.

Dad went on, “Guys who like other guys don’t make it in the world, Suzanne. This needs to get fixed.”

“Oh? How do you propose to fix this?”

The word “fixed” brought to mind a surgery for dogs that I wouldn’t want to take part in.

“Perhaps I can speak to the Rabbi. I’m sure there are sessions or groups. What do they call them…conversions?”

“David…that’s appalling. Do you know what they do at those places?”

“Oh, here we go,” Dad huffed. “This is to give him a chance in the world. Just because it isn’t all kumbaya and playing with kittens doesn’t mean that it won’t be good for him.”

“I want to speak with Dr. Perlman first?”

“Do what you want but I’m going to find a program for him.”

“Wait. David. Micah should be part of the decision here.”

“He’s thirteen. What does he know? That kid has no idea what he’s doing. We’ll get this sorted and he’ll thank me later. That’s all there is to it.”

“Yes, he’s thirteen. He’s Bar Mitzvah’d…which means he is responsible for himself.”

“He’s still a minor.”

“David - you cannot dispute the importance of that ceremony. It was a rite of passage that you pushed him into. You did it because you wanted him to have the sense that he was a man and that he needed to be more responsible. It was your decision that you made unilaterally. He did it — despite the fact that he’s not religious. Really, David. You forced him into it.”

“And now…and, quite frankly, if you don’t respect what it means that he did that and completely bypass him when it comes to what to do next, I’m afraid that you will lose his respect and you will lose any closeness you have with him.”

“That’s a fine sentiment coming from you.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you _think_ that means? You aren’t exactly in a position to talk about putting Micah in an unfair position.”

“That’s not fair.” My mom sniffed. I thought she might be crying.

“Fair or not, it’s accurate,” Dad argued. It was one of those _zingers_ he pulled out, unaware -- or perhaps uncaring -- of how much they hurt.

I hated that. I hated that he said that to her. I hated that he thought what he was saying was okay. I hated what he had to say about me. I hated that it was all such a big deal.

“Suzanne, if he’s going to continue with gymnastics — and with this particular coach that you are both so enamored of —he also needs to spend more time with a mentor. Someone who is a leader in the community who can help guide him on ethics and morality, maybe help him with better habits of discipline beyond athletics and something to give him a better sense of direction. I don’t see why this shouldn’t be the Rabbi.”

“Because he’s not religious, David. Everything he’s learned is in his head but it isn’t in his heart and it is absolutely wrong to force that on him.”

“And if I insist?”

“If you want me to back you up on this, Micah needs to be included in this discussion. Whoever it is he’s supposed to spend this time with has to be someone he looks up to and respects.”

“Or, what?”

“Don’t.”

“No, really. Or what, Suzanne? Because what I’m hearing is that after all the crap I’ve had to put up with from you and from him, what I’m not hearing is any reason why I should stay.”

“We need to stop talking. Right now.”

And they did.

I heard mom go upstairs.

I heard dad settle on the couch. 

I listened for anything else — an apology, a request for a do-over, an admission of temporary insanity. I didn’t hear them say one more word to each other. But there was nothing.

Not even _Good Night._


End file.
